


Like A Paper Crane

by CrystalBunnyz



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Explosions, F/F, F/M, Gangs, Gen, M/M, Multi, POV Alternating, Terrorism, it may be the only thing that will by the end of it, my goodness OOC warning ugh, the title will make sense i swear, this seems like a sensitive topic lets hope it goes well, very few things in this are even remotely canon im sorry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-09
Updated: 2014-05-14
Packaged: 2018-01-24 02:35:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1588466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrystalBunnyz/pseuds/CrystalBunnyz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything is connected and their lives all intertwine at points; it's all part of the grand design. Once one piece of that design starts to fall apart, the others are sure to follow, like a chain of paper cranes varying from small to large, each soaked in gasoline simply waiting for the match. Cause and effect, everything leads to the same destination no matter how long or short the road may be: death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Up In Smoke

He wasn't from the big city. He didn't know the unspoken rules of the streets. He didn't know it wasn't okay to just up and start talking to people, and he sure as hell hadn't known that it wasn't publicly accepted to offer people walking rides without being accused of being a creep or rapist. He kept apologizing for running into people even though they hardly gave a shit, kept striking conversation with those he was walking with in the city hall, and had offered a young woman a ride home since she was going to have to wait in the deluge of rain for a bus after she took care of a ticket she had received for a car that had been impounded earlier that day. It was a difficult time for Jean; dealing with taxes was one thing, but it was another when something went wrong and he had to go check his property ownership in the city hall.

Jean was barely aged over twenty-one, tall around six foot some odd inches, with a slender but muscular build that was toned through hard labor on his father’s farm. His skin was suntanned with an obvious line of a lighter shade where he’s worn a wife beater, though the difference wasn't as startling as some because working shirtless in the fields was more comfortable than working with a wife beater that just constantly gets in the way. His hair was a light auburn color that was bleached by the sun, cut short to keep from getting in his way whilst he would do farm work. Today though, he needed to dress more formally as he was out in the city taking care of official business. So he wore a simple white button down shirt and a pair of black slacks that honestly needed to be replaced; they were just short on him to make him look a bit like an idiot in them.  
He was standing in line to the little information desk that would tell him where to go and who to speak to about this; his father had told him to do this in his stead and now Jean regretted letting him being talked into this. Patience was not his strong suit unless he was working with the animals or tending to plants. It was an entirely different thing waiting on people. There were only a couple of people waiting in line in front of him, but the person at the desk was slow. He impatiently tapped his foot, crossing his arms with the pieces of paper about the taxes in his hand. _This is so stupid,_ he thought to himself. _Everyone here is stupid. Even that pretty girl I talked to earlier. It’s hot in here._ He brought his hand up and undid a button on the shirt.

At the desk sat a girl no older than twenty attempting to reason with the man across the wood on the other side of the glass. The computers had been hacked into earlier that day and whoever had done it made a complete mess of the system; managing to find certain files and emails about certain people had become quite a strenuous task that she was unsure how to accomplish at the time. She wiped a strand of hair behind her ear with a shaking hand before she eventually sighed in defeat just to turn to the man, whose face was twisting up in impatience and very clearly, fury.

“Sir, I cannot find what you've requested. If you can come back around five, I can help you more, but there are some problems with the computer; I can’t find them for you right now. I need to see if I can help these other people. I apologize for the inconvenience and we are trying to fix it as soon as possible,” she flinched and squeaked when he slammed his fists onto the table. He leaned close to the glass and his breath fogged it up a bit.

“I have not been waiting here for three hours just for you to tell me that you can’t do anything,” he snarled, his spit lining the glass as he spoke angrily. “I planned this three weeks ahead and now you’re telling me that you can’t find it? I made absolute sure that you wouldn't fuck it up like this!”

“Sir, please keep your voice down. I’m sorry that this isn't going as planned, but please sir, I need to see if I can help other people as well, and I’ll continue looking for your files I promise,” she practically pleaded with him.

“Fuck it,” he snapped, turning around and slouching away vehemently. She breathed out a sigh of relief and put on a smile for the next person in line.  
“I’m so sorry for the wait,” she said to the man, “My name is Krista, how can I help you?” Flashing him her most charming smile and cocking her head to the side a bit, the man relaxed and began to talk.

Outside the building stood a man dressed in a dark leather jacket and skintight jeans. He was short, but had a lean figure hugged by his choice of clothing. A helmet was over his head, the visor dark enough that it was impossible to see the face inside of it. He adjusted one of his black gloves, pulling it on tighter before he reached into his pocket and pulled out a phone hidden away in a sleek black case. His fingers tapped away at the screen for several moments before his index finger hit the lock button not once, not twice, but several times due to the unresponsiveness of the worn button. He slipped it away back in its pocket and threw his leg over the equally as dark motorcycle, igniting the engine as he hit up the kickstand carelessly with one of his boots. It roared to life and in a flash, he was gone down the road and absolutely no one suspected a thing and for him, that was absolutely ideal.

Standing across the street at the bus stop was a boy no older than sixteen, or perhaps it was just how he looked that made him seem that way. No, actually, he was older than sixteen; it was simply a pet peeve for people to assume that he was indeed sixteen because he simply isn't. He had soft blond hair that was cut just shy of his chin, his bangs falling in his forehead. His eyes were glued to the phone he held in his hand, his thumb hitting the next button on the music player repeatedly until he finally found something to listen to. The rain was heavier than he had expected it to be, but he at least brought an umbrella. He was just going about his normal business; he was waiting for the four o'clock bus to go home from his shift at work. His foot tapped to the beat of the song he settled on and he looked up to watch cars go by and people go in and out of the city hall. He had even watched the man on the motorcycle take off and all he could think was hot fucking _damn_ that was a really nice motorcycle. Disappointed that he hadn't even been able to watch it for very long, he pulled his phone out again and looked at it. The battery was at fourteen percent. He knew he'd forgotten to do something this morning, and that was to charge his phone. He was sure Eren would blow it up soon; the bus was running late.

Not far from the bus stop was a parking lot filled practically to the brim of vehicles of various makes, models, colors and years. Some were brand fucking new Nissan sort of things and others were beat to shit little sedans that even the most car literate people would have issues placing a name to. Near the back of the line furthest away from the city hall sat a black car that blended in well with the rest of the crowd of vehicles around it. The windows were tinted to the point that it was impossible to see inside of them. Sitting inside were two men, both in the front seats. The larger, lankier of the two was in the passenger seat. In his hand was a sort of remote, his thumb lingering over the only button on it. His partner, the smaller but thicker of the partners, held a mobile phone in his hand. A message had just come in and with a sharp nod, the man in the passenger seat smashed the button down with his thumb.

The seconds leading up to this moment were normal. Krista was talking with Jean now. He was almost ready to be sent on his way to the bank to gather a few more important pieces of financial information that were suddenly needed because of a flaw in the property claim and after that, he would have been able to go home. He was mere inches away from the counter when the building had become hot in the span of mere hundredths of a second; no one even noticed it before it was too late. The explosion completely enveloped the building and shattered it to rubble. The floors above caved in and came crashing down onto the people on the first floor. All that could be heard was the high pitched whistle leftover to those who had not been within the building and just below that octave were the sounds of the building falling in on itself and the shrill screams of those trapped within the rubble and those outside the building looking at the devastation. The scent of fire, gunpowder, gas and burning flesh all mingled together and tickled the bystanders' noses passing by them in clouds of the blackest smoke.

On top of everything that could have been heard, the screeching of tires and the roar of an engine faded off in the distance away from the scene of the crime.


	2. Publicity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone's favorite newscasting duo takes on the story of the Trost Avenue bombing.

“…reporting live from Trost Avenue, I am Petra Ral. Back to you, Mike,” a young girl said, a charming smile plastered on her face as the man behind the camera held up his fingers counting from three down to zero. Once his last finger fell down, she immediately sighed and her smile dropped. “God, this is so annoying. We couldn’t even get any good footage and we just spewed out a bunch of shit everyone already knows. This is why I never try to talk with the police over this kind of stuff, they just say things like ‘hey, the building kind of went boom and we don’t know why’ but in fancier terms that takes up too much goddamn time so we have to be cut off in order to fit in the other useless stories that everyone has already heard about three times today,” she complained loudly, raising her hand to take down the small bun her hair was in.

Her partner started to put up the camera. He was much larger than her, and appeared to be quite older. He moved the equipment to the van. “Stop your bitching. At least we were actually sent out of the studio for once,” he replied simply, turning towards her with a hand outstretched expectantly. With a huff, she began to take off the microphone and wires that came with that from around her and stuffed them none too kindly into his waiting hand.

“Well, maybe if you had a steady hand, Auruo, we would actually be out in the field more often,” she said tersely, walking to the passenger side of the van. She pulled on the handle, but the door didn’t open. Upon further investigation, she saw that it was locked. She glared at the door and huffed impatiently. “Now hurry up, we need to go to the hospital and see how some of the victims are faring since the police are incompetent and can’t bother to keep up with the people they’ve just pulled out of the rubble. We need to make it there before the doctors that actually know what’s going on are doing something stupid, like a surgery.”

“How about you try to get the camera to stay in a position where it’s not going to crush your precious bags then, Petra?” Auruo growled as he pushed the camera case further in and moved some of Petra’s bags around. He eventually decided that it was good enough and she could just cry him a river if something was smashed or broken and after making sure that the door was shut nice and tight, he went around to the driver’s side door and unlocked it as well as Petra’s, though he considered out of spite to keep it locked and drive off without her.

The hospital parking lot was hell. Auruo was pretty sure that if they didn’t find a parking space soon, he was going to ram his shitty little van into the next asshole that left their car parked between two lines. He’d dropped Petra off at the entrance and had told her he would join her soon enough once he managed to find a parking space, but he was beginning to think that was fucking impossible. At least she could just get the information she needed without him. The cameraman wasn’t too important it seems.

Inside the hospital, Petra was waiting patiently for the nurse at the desk to actually notice her. He seemed far too young to be working here though, so she was almost tempted to ask him if there was someone else she could talk to, but her profession has at least managed to teach her that it was best not to judge people by how they look. She took in a small breath and opened her mouth to say something.

“I’ll be with you in just a moment, ma’am. I’m trying to finish this up as quickly as I can,” he said to her instead, making her shut her mouth and nod lamely. A few seconds passed before he looked up at her. “Oh! I’m sorry; I didn’t realize that it was you. I imagine you want to know about the injuries of those who were brought in from the explosion?”

“Oh, um, yes. I’m Petra Ral if you didn’t know my name at least. I just need to ask a few questions. My partner was supposed to be in here, but I don’t know if it was even okay to bring a camera in here?” Petra replied, smiling.

“Ah, probably not. I’m new here, but I do know some things, at least about the people that come in and not so much about the hospital rules. There were seven people brought in here. Four of them are in critical condition and three of them are currently being checked out for anything more than minor injuries. No casualties as of right now,” the nurse babbled, flashing a charming smile. Petra took note that the sprinkle of freckles across his cheeks made him terribly adorable.

“I see,” Petra mused, smiling. “What’s your name? I might have to ask you to come outside so that we can get a good interview with you so it seems more legit than me just saying what you just told me.”

“Oh, right. I’m Marco Bodt,” he told her, face flushing just slightly as he walked around the desk. Few words were exchanged as they walked towards the exit of the hospital that led right to the parking lot.

Just outside stood Auruo and an all too familiar couple. The expression on Auruo’s face immediately concerned Petra and the grave looks on the others’ faces made her heart pound heavily in her chest.

“What?” She asked, walking up to him with Marco at her side.

“Jean was in the blast,” Auruo said to her, “And they just left because the visiting hours are getting close to being over and he’s in a surgery that they said would last an hour or so. It’s not looking good.”

“Oh,” Petra whispered. She looked at Jean’s mother and father, silent for a moment before she walked over to them and brought them both into a hug. “With how stubborn that boy is, I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

The stuttering cry that came out of the mother’s throat pulled at Petra’s heart strings.

“I’m sorry,” Petra murmured softly.

The interview didn’t get filmed that day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's basically a really crappy filler--I'm sorry for the shitty and choppy writing. I tried to make it better but I had a serious case of writer's block even though I like to think that I have this planned out relatively well. Well as in I know what's going to happen at least in the next chapter but not much after that. I'm shitty at planning things because I like changing things up and that will be the goddamn death of me.


End file.
